


Mischief in his smile, grief in his eyes (or: A Big Fat Middle Finger to Heaven)

by Tosie



Series: Crowley Was Anthony Before He Fell [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anthony J Crowley - Freeform, Crowley Remembers Heaven, Crowley Was Anthony Before Falling, Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 06:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tosie/pseuds/Tosie
Summary: The J was just a J.  "A.J. Crowley" has a nice ring to it.  But the A was deliberate, and quite bold.  It was, in fact, the most rebellious thing Crowley had ever done—which, for a fallen angel, is saying something.





	Mischief in his smile, grief in his eyes (or: A Big Fat Middle Finger to Heaven)

Among all the demons in Hell, there is not one who could tell you why Anthony J Crowley chose the name he did.

However, quite a few of the angels in Heaven1 could. And they are not happy about it.

1 Though not, curiously, the one who knows him best.

* * *

Aziraphale swallowed and gripped the arms of his desk chair.

A visit from Gabriel wasn’t the end of the world2—Aziraphale didn’t _ enjoy _ their conversations, but the only real danger was that he would decide to drop by at the same time as Crowley, and they were careful about that.3

Gabriel did not always come alone, but today he was accompanied not by Uriel or the thuggish Sandalphon, but by Michael herself. This was what had Aziraphale (metaphorically) sweating. While Gabriel disdained the Earth, Michael actively disliked it. The rare occasions on which she left Heaven were always significant and often bloody.

She did not speak, instead choosing to stand beside Gabriel and stare without blinking at Aziraphale, who was beginning to find it quite disconcerting. Gabriel wore his usual crisp gray suit and pompous smile.

“Aziraphale! I trust we find you well? Good.” He spoke brusquely, and Aziraphale knew by now not to bother responding. “We have a few questions about your most recent report.”

Aziraphale’s brows knit together and he felt his heart drop.4 His mind raced, trying to recall exactly what he’d written in that report. He had filed it some weeks ago, maybe even months; evidently the relentless bureaucracy of Heaven meant that it had only just been read. As far as he could remember it had all been more or less truthful, if a little exaggerated, except for—

“Specifically, you claim to have prevented a demon from robbing a church.”

—the holy water.

Oh, dear.

If they knew about the holy water, they knew about _ Crowley_. And if they knew about Crowley—

“I can explain!” he burst out. He couldn’t, of course, so it was a blessing that Gabriel continued on as if Aziraphale hadn’t spoken at all.

“You stated, and I quote, ‘...that is how I thwarted the demon who calls himself Anthony J Crowley and in doing so prevented the theft of blah blah yadda yadda yadda...’”

Aziraphale was too alarmed to be amused by Gabriel’s horrendous impression of him. He pressed himself further into the chair, gaze darting between the two archangels towering over him.

“Yes?” he said weakly.

Gabriel steepled his hands together and leaned forward slightly on the balls of his feet.

“Are you sure that is the name he’s using? Anthony Crowley?”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Am I... yes? He—” Aziraphale swallowed. “I _ believe _ he wanted to blend in with the humans better.5 I’ve done something similar myself, actually...” Aziraphale waved his hand in the direction of the outside door, and the golden lettering above it that spelled out “A.Z. FELL and Co.”

“But it’s definitely _ Anthony _? Not... Asmodeus, or Apollyon, or,” Gabriel appeared to wrack his brain, “...Attila, or something?” 

Aziraphale frowned again, baffled. Were they wondering how he had found out?

“Um, I believe so.” Aziraphale looked nervously at the archangels’ disbelieving faces. Their very _ beings _ were blazing with righteous anger and ...fear? “I—I mean, that is... what my sources tell me?” he offered, and hoped6 they wouldn’t ask what sources.

Gabriel’s smile dropped momentarily before he spun on his heel and ushered Michael into the corner, where the two of them huddled together and conferred in urgent whispers.

Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap and stared down at them, trying to settle his thoughts. Angels cannot read minds, even archangels, but Gabriel’s piercing lilac gaze never failed to make him feel very exposed, all the same. Aziraphale was well aware of his corporation’s unfortunate tendency to display his emotions plainly across its face.7 It had gotten him into trouble in the past, and he expected it would do so again. He just hoped it wouldn’t be today.

Gabriel turned back towards Aziraphale and strode purposefully across the room, coming to an abrupt stop slightly closer to his chair than was comfortable.

“Thank you, Aziraphale, for confirming that for us.” He didn’t sound particularly grateful. “This is quite important—and disturbing—information.”

“But..._ why _?” Aziraphale asked, bewilderment overcoming his worry. “Why does it matter what name he’s using? He’s changed it before, you know, and it isn’t even a real name—”

“Ah, but Aziraphale,” said Gabriel. He was smiling broadly again, but it seemed to reach his eyes even less than usual. “That is precisely the problem. It is a real name. It’s _ his _ real name.”

“_ Was _,” interjected Michael, with a hiss so venomous it would have sounded more at home in Crowley’s throat than in hers.

His...what? “You don’t mean his—his _ given _ name? From...” Aziraphale gestured upwards.

Gabriel nodded grimly.

“But that’s...”

“Yes. We know.”

Gabriel proceeded to launch into a tirade about how disrespectful this was, how brazen, how insolent; how it was essentially a big fat middle finger to Heaven.8

He didn’t put it quite like that, but Aziraphale was only half listening. There was a _ feeling _ spreading through him, a sort of wonder, and he was concentrating on keeping it from lighting up his face. He felt sure his eyes were shining with it, and he blinked quickly before any tears could form. Aziraphale’s subconscious had gotten ahead of him, and he did not understand the reason for this strange joy of his until Michael, rolling her eyes, interrupted Gabriel’s rant and he tuned back in to the conversation.

“Gabriel,” she snapped, “_ Focus _. A low-ranking demon insulting Heaven is hardly worthy of our concern.”

Gabriel shut his mouth, looking as close to sheepish as he ever got.

“Our concern,” Michael continued through gritted teeth, “is that he knows the name at all. They are not supposed to remember.”

Oh. Of course.

Crowley _ remembered _ ; that was what was making Aziraphale feel like he’d swallowed one of God’s rainbows. It all rushed back to him, now. Falling stripped an angel not only of their name,9 but of _ every _ memory from Heaven. It was part of the punishment. There was a gaping hole inside them, and they didn’t even remember what was supposed to be there. They only knew that it was gone.

“So—” Aziraphale’s voice came out as barely a whisper, and he swallowed, trying again, “How—how does he know? I mean, how did he find out?”

Gabriel turned to look at Michael, but she seemed disinclined to speak further on the subject, her mouth pressed into a thin line. He pivoted back.

“Well, Aziraphale, I’m glad you asked. Either the demon has somehow regained memories from before the Fall, or he has managed to infiltrate Heaven itself—potentially by corrupting an angel with his Hellish influence.”

Gabriel, wildly misinterpreting Aziraphale’s expression, nodded gravely.

“Indeed. Both scenarios are equally troubling, not to mention equally impossible. Below are _ way _ overstepping their bounds with this and you can be assured that we will retaliate. But! First we need to understand how this has happened...and that’s what we have you here for, Aziraphale!” Gabriel punched the seated principality on the shoulder. “You are going to find out how exactly the demon,” he gestured with his hands, searching for the words, “... _ came to possess _ this information, and report back to us A.S.A.P.” Gabriel leaned down and whispered, loudly, “That’s a human expression. It means ‘as swiftly as possible’.”

Aziraphale smiled tightly and nodded, avoiding the archangel’s gaze. He rubbed his shoulder.

“Right,” he muttered, “I’ll...investigate, then.”10

“Excellent! We’ll expect that report within the week.” Gabriel clapped his hands together and turned to go, shouting over his shoulder as he went, “Keep up the good work, Aziraphale!”

Michael lingered for a moment, glancing over the back room of the bookshop with undisguised distaste. She narrowed her eyes at the medal hanging on its stone bust, glared briefly at Aziraphale, and swept out.

2 Usually.

3 There had been a near miss, once; Crowley had been forced to jump out the window and slither away into a storm drain. He’d found it hilarious, and Aziraphale did too, eventually.

4 Quite a feat, as he didn’t have one.

5 In fact, he had wanted to buy a car.

6 He would have prayed, but you never knew who might be listening.

7 Crowley had teased him about it, and Aziraphale only just managed to bite back the retort that Crowley’s corporation had the exact same fault, never mind the shades, and that Aziraphale could nearly always tell what he was feeling, if not exactly what he was thinking.*

8 And Hell, incidentally, although _they_ had no way of knowing it. Not that the angels particularly cared about insulting Hell, anyway; if anything, they were for it.

9 Except for Lucifer. He became Satan, but he got to keep Lucifer too. No one was quite sure why, since the only two beings who might possibly know the answer were God and Lucifer himself, and nobody wanted to ask them. The angels had just seen what happened to those who questioned God, and the demons were of the general opinion that Satan probably wasn’t the sort to take kindly to personal questions.

10 “Investigate” was perhaps an overstatement, but Aziraphale couldn’t very well say “ask him about it over tea,” which is what he actually planned on doing.

* This was more the result of six thousand years of seeing each others’ faces** than it was due to any inherent properties of those faces.

** Six thousand years of _gazing_ _at_ each others’ faces, more like. But neither of them was ready to admit that yet.

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t contact Crowley right away, in case Above decided they had something more to say and sent a messenger back down, as they sometimes did.11 He was intensely curious, though, and impatient to get some answers, so he only waited a day before arranging a meeting. The next afternoon found them together, feeding the ducks in their usual spot.

Aziraphale glanced sidelong at the demon. They hadn’t spoken since that conversation in the car, when Aziraphale had handed over the thermos of holy water. He was relieved to find that, while Crowley was standing just slightly further away than he normally might, he otherwise didn’t seem to be treating Aziraphale any differently.

“Well,” he drawled, “What’s so urgent, angel?”

“Oh, nothing. It isn’t—I didn’t say it was urgent, I just said I wanted to talk.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and looked at him, yellow eyes peering over round, dark lenses. “Right. My mistake.” He turned back to gaze out over the pond again. “What’s so not-urgent that you _ wanted to talk _ about it right away?”

Aziraphale shot the demon a brief, irritated glance, and then hesitated. There was no need to mention the archangels’ visit; it wasn’t like he planned to report the truth back to them anyway. He just wanted to know it himself.

“It’s...” Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, how did you choose your name?”

The demon stiffened momentarily—anyone who hadn’t known him for six millennia would have missed it—and then relaxed back into his customary loose slouch. He pretended to think it over.

“Not sure I even remember, angel,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Spent so many years responding to Crawly, I think I just wanted to keep it simple. Crawly, Crowley. Easy to get used to, y’know?” He looked down at his hands, fiddling with a piece of bread.

“You _ know _ what I mean, Crowley.” Aziraphale tried to keep exasperation from coloring his tone. “Your—first name.”

“I hope you weren’t about to say Christian name, ‘cause it’s definitely not.” He glanced at Aziraphale, who kept his gaze steady. Crowley deflated slightly. He made a series of noncommittal noises in his throat before continuing. “A first name makes things easier. You know, dealing with the human stuff. And I needed it to sound good, obviously, so I ...”

While Crowley waffled on about dactyls and strombees and some saint he had beaten up in a cave,12 Aziraphale studied his friend’s expression. Crowley offered up a dozen different mundane explanations; but there was mischief in his smile and something like grief in his eyes, and Aziraphale did not believe his ridiculous stories for a moment.

“... had to add the J after I started getting mistaken for that blessed occultist. S’pose I should be grateful to him, really. Head Office heard there was an _ A. Crowley _ waltzing about corrupting the populace with magick, and _ I _ didn’t have to do any real work for ages. I didn’t _ try _ to take credit for it, y’know, they just assumed. Never even met the guy...” he trailed off, realizing he’d been babbling.

Aziraphale nodded quietly. If Crowley wasn’t ready to talk about it, the angel wouldn’t press him.

“I see.”

Crowley tossed a last piece of crust into the water. It landed between two drakes, who immediately started attacking each other over it.

“That all, angel?” His expression was careful, guarded in a way that belied his casual tone. 

“Yes. Yes, thank you, that’s what I wanted to know.”

“Glad I could be of service. See you around, then?”

“I expect so. Do...take care, Anthony.”

One corner of Crowley’s mouth quirked upwards involuntarily, and then he grinned in spite of himself.

“Sure, Aziraphale,” he said fondly, already turning to go. “Ciao!” And with a final vague wave, he wandered away down the path.

11 Once, after briefing Aziraphale on a particularly crucial mission, they had actually sent him a low-ranking angel as an “assistant”. Eric had absolutely no knowledge of Earth, humanity, or the concept of discretion. Aziraphale only had to look away for a moment and he was slipping into Enochian speech, or manifesting his wings to chase a fluffy cloud, or trying to smite a mosquito that had bitten him. Aziraphale had been forced to resort to keeping him on a tight leash, literally.* Nevertheless, keeping the flighty angel out of trouble had proven so time- and energy-consuming that Aziraphale had entirely neglected his mission. It was only kept from being a complete disaster by the fact that Crowley was too busy rolling on the floor laughing at him to bother disrupting the peace negotiations.

12 He had, in actuality, thrown exactly one startled punch before turning into a snake and slithering away. An emaciated, hallucinating monk stumbling into your ribcage is not a pleasant way to be woken up from a nap.

* It was lucky that Earth had the poor angel so disoriented. Otherwise, it might have occurred to him that a rope and collar can barely restrain an adult human, much less an angel. He never even tried to take it off.**

** He did eventually manage to slip away from Aziraphale, and promptly got himself discorporated trying to pet the horses during a chariot race. It was a relief for everyone involved.

* * *

_After considerable research and surveillance, I have obtained the requested information concerning the demon Crowley. I am relieved to report that we have nothing to fear; he is oblivious to any real significance of the name. He chose it in reference to his temptation of Saint Anthony the Great; apparently he considers it an important moment in his demonic career, as it were, although I cannot fathom why._

_ In other news, I have noticed recently a worrying increase in ... _

**Author's Note:**

> I have a sequel outlined for this where they talk a bit more about Heaven and Falling and all that.
> 
> I also have ideas for a couple other fics about Crowley's angel name being Anthony, so we'll see if those go anywhere.


End file.
